


If you can hold the stars in place, you can hold my heart the same

by viveriveniversumvivusvici55



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: Crushes, Dxun (Star Wars), Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Half of the Ebon Hawk is secretly in love with Surik and there's nothing you can do about it, Light-Side Jedi Exile, Nar Shaddaa (Star Wars), Other, Secret Crush, Snippets, Surik cares deeply about their crew, Surik is a little shit, Team Bonding, Telos (Star Wars), except for Force Lightning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21653776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viveriveniversumvivusvici55/pseuds/viveriveniversumvivusvici55
Summary: Snippets from KOTOR II: The Sith Lords. A gender-neutral Jedi Exile (Surik), and the various shenanigans along the way.
Relationships: Bao-Dur/The Jedi Exile (hinted)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So...I bought this game for Black Friday. And I would die for the Exile already. So here are some moments that I couldn't stop thinking about as I was playing. I am aware that it's absurdly self-indulgent and I'm mostly writing this for myself. If you all like it, lovely and welcome to me being back on my bullshit.
> 
> Title is from the song "Stars" by Skillet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The clothes make the man, some say. As Surik eyes the robes lying on the bed, taken from the Bumani Exchange Corporation, they can’t help but feel scared at the thought._

Atton and Kreia have been kind enough to give them some space. Kreia meditates between the beds, resting her stump on her knees as she hones into the Force. Atton sits at the console against the wall, trying to navigate through loopholes in the programming to get more information on their situation. Both of them studiously pretend that Surik isn’t kneeling on the bed, going through an existential crisis over a piece of clothing.

Specifically…Jedi robes.

Well, not quite Jedi Robes. It’s Baran Do Novice robes, looted from one of the Exchange’s mercenaries in the Brumari Exchange Headquarters. Surik knows that history - The Baran Do are force sensitive members of the Kel Dor race. They seek inner peace and are very patient, consulting with the Force before making decisions. Novices are those who have begun their training in the Baran Do philosophy, learning how to empty their minds and find tranquility in any situation. Even though they’re not Jedi robes, it’s the closest that Surik has gotten to Jedi robes in years. Not since their exile.

They have to admit that the idea of putting on anything like Jedi robes again is very fucking daunting.

Surik reaches forward and gently runs their fingers over the soft fabric. After the trial and handing over their lightsaber, they had stripped their robes off and left them for one of the padawans to put away. Surik had liked their robes. They’d sewn an extra pocket in them for snacks or other useful items. The fabric had not quite been soft, but it was familiar. It had been theirs.

These didn’t feel like their old robes. These were worn down, yes, but they were a different kind of fabric – the inner layer softer, the other layer stiffer. It helps with the understanding of ‘these aren’t jedi robes, I can wear these, they’re just _clothes dammit_ ’.

Only it doesn’t. The robes look exactly like their old teacher’s. It feels like a punch in the gut to even consider wearing them. They stare at the fabric, silently asking it for advice and waiting for an answer that will never come.

Finally, Surik mutters a soft “ah, fuck it” and starts stripping off the miner’s uniform that they have been wearing for days. (Honestly, that hadn’t helped any claims that the three of them had nothing to do with the whole Peragus explosion.) Atton still has his back turned, but Surik is pretty sure that the man is looking in the reflection of his screen to gape at them in their underwear. They can see the shape of the man's eyes in the edge of the screen, riveted to the shape of their body.

_The man has absolutely no shame. Let's see if I can at least get a reaction, just to distract myself._

They hop a bit to haul the pants off, standing in the plain underthings that have somehow survived years of travel, and kick them to the side.

Atton chokes in the distance. Surik grins to themselves, head tilted away so Atton doesn't see it. _Still got it._

Then they slowly start hauling the robes on. First the trousers, made of loose cream fabric, that are tucked into tall brown leather boots. Then the tunic, tied with a brown belt so it hangs appropriately. Somehow, the whole thing fits them nicely, apart from some pieces that need to be tightened. A few pins fix that with ease. Finally…there is the brown over robe, and that is where the stress sits.

 _The robe doesn’t make you a Jedi,_ they try to tell themselves. _This isn’t a Jedi robe. Wearing it doesn’t make you a Jedi. Clothes don’t make the man. Not that you’re a man, but still. You are still an exile, even if you wear robes. They’re clothes. They’re comfortable clothes that you know how to sneak the best armour into and regen inlays, and where to put the pockets that no security sweep will find, and where you can hide a knife that you might just be able to Force Pull out and throw into someone’s chest._

_They’re just clothes._

“Hey, looking good,” Atton has finally spun around, face the picture of nonchalance (like he absolutely wasn't peeping on them changing).

They frown. "Really?"

"Yeah," Atton replies. "I mean, it looks right. Not quite Jedi, but close enough."

They smile. "Thanks, Atton."

“Don't sweat it. You done freaking out over your clothes now?”

Surik looks over themselves and slowly nods. “Yup. Done now.”

“Great. Now let’s deal with the Ithorians like you promised, you bleeding heart.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bao-Dur learns of the accuracy of Atton's gut feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used Solo Mode to bring the Czerka salvage crew back, forgetting that turning on the reactor turned on the tank droid. There was a lot of hiding and leaning around corners to shoot.

"Uh-oh. I’ve got a bad feeling.”

Bao-Dur looks at Atton with a raised eyebrow. General Surik has jogged off the with the Czerka salvage worker, leading him to the exit while Atton and Bao-Dur focus on finding the ignition codes somewhere in all of these containers. He’s in the middle of hacking a door open while Atton scours the terminals by the droid recharging stations. Finally, Bao-Dur has to break the silence. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I have a bad feeling. In my gut. I’m not sure it’s happening with us, but it’s…something. And I’m usually right about these things.”

Ah. Gut feelings. Bao-Dur was aware of those - and they certainly had saved his skin a few times during the Mandalorian Wars. Still, he's getting to know Atton Rand over the short time they have spent around each other, and it seems like half of what the man says is complete and utter bantha shit. Bao-Dur very loudly doesn’t express his skepticism. Atton rolls his eyes. “I’m serious. I think we should go ahead, check on-“

**“HOLY FUCK!”**

Atton and Bao-Dur stare in the distance from where General Surik’s shout echoes and Atton finishes, “…the Jedi.”

The two of them drop what they are doing and sprint down the corridor, following the sounds of bowcaster fire and frankly far too much cursing. At the very least, it's a familiar sound. Bao-Dur's remote whizzes ahead to get a look at the scene and beeps out a sound of alarm. As they get to the shuttle hangar, Bao-Dur realizes why when he sees what the General is sharing the hangar with.

It’s a tank droid. It obviously was powered down in a side room from the hangar, and with the reactor on, it’s doing a circuit to protect the shuttle. And the General presumably _ran right into it._

General Surik had been a trouble magnet during the War. Obviously some things never change.

The Czerka man is hiding behind some barrels, hands over his head in a meager attempt to protect himself. Atton snorts. “Hell of a rescue, huh?” The man doesn’t hear, too focused on his own fear. Bao-Dur sighs and draws his rifle, Atton following suit.

Lightning arcs out from the General’s palm at the tank droid. The lightning seems to work, but there’s only so much that can come out before the General staggers back, bowcaster drawn. Bao-Dur and Atton just start shooting, trying to draw its attention while the General’s reserves slowly come back to them. The minutes pass painfully until finally the General stands straight again.

Atton shoots the droid in its optical sensor to stun it. “NOW, ONE MORE TIME!”

There is one last burst of lightning, landing right in a ripped open hole in the droid's side. With that, the tank droid fizzles to a stop and falls over. It misses the shuttle by inches, and Bao-Dur winces. There’s only so much work he can do on a shuttle – that would not have gone well. The General winces, but they stand slowly.

“You alright, Surik?” Atton calls.

“Barely. That thing threw _grenades._ ” There should be terror in the General's voice, but it is instead filled with excited wonder.

Bao-Dur can read into that silent request. “General, I am not bringing that thing on board and rebuilding it for you.”

Surik looks at him pleadingly, big eyes wide, and for a brief moment, Bao-Dur almost reconsiders his decision. _I can't always please you, General._ Then he shakes his head. “Nope. It won’t fit on the shuttle.”

They sigh, a little dramatic as they mourn the loss of a potential comrade. “Fine.”

The Czerka man gets up and runs over to her, tripping over his own feet in his rush to leave. Surik sighs. “Come on, let’s get you out as soon as we can. Before any more droids show up.”

“We’ll get back to looking.” Atton and Bao-Dur start walking back down the hallways. There’s only one other place that Bao-Dur can think of to find the ignition codes, anyway. 

"So? I told you I was right," Atton grins at him. "Always trust the gut feeling."

Bao-Dur doesn't dignify that with an answer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, the Exile learned a few things while Bao-Dur was away. He isn't sure how he feels about them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Force lightning is amazing. It's the only reason I win fights. I do find it interesting, though, that no one asks about your tactics. Only your choices.

The first moment Bao-Dur sees it happen, his hearts leap into his throat in terror.

A man with a bounty on his head charges at the General, blade at the ready. The General's eyes harden and their hand raises. With a thought, lighting flies from the General’s hand into the man's chest. The man convulses with the electricity, and with an intent glare, the General does it again and again until the man drops to the ground, dead. And then proceeds to do it to his friend.

Bao-Dur has only seen Force lightning once before – it flew from Revan’s hands, a sign of the Jedi already moving toward the Dark Side. To see it now from the General…

Perhaps the war had touched them more than he had expected.

He doesn’t ask about it while they are out in the Telos restoration zones, or in the military base. He does notice, though, that using it seems to tire the General out. They can shoot the lightning three or so times – and isn’t that frightening to say, that the General is somehow filling their veins with _lightning_ , turning the Force into bolts that rip through their enemies – before the strength fades from them and they draw more heavily on their swords. Or guns. Or grenades.

The general has always been rather fond of grenades, he remembers. They requisitioned quite a few.

The electricity is especially helpful against the droids in the military base, but Bao-Dur can’t help the relief that he feels when the General shifts to their newly acquired bowcaster (found on a corpse, as many good weapons are).

He finally gathers himself to ask them about it on the Ebon Hawk, on their way to Nar Shaddaa. “General. A word?”

“Yes, Bao-Dur?” They look up at him from their task of upgrading the bowcaster. Hearing his name from those lips is…really nice. It gives him validation and recognition that he hadn’t known he’d been missing. Or perhaps it's just because it's from the General.

_Losing focus. Back on track._

“I have to ask something.”

“Ask away.”

“I saw you using…lightning. Force Lightning. That's a Sith tactic, isn't it?"

Their gaze shutters for a moment. "Yes. It is."

"Has the war touched you so deeply that you would turn to those methods?”

The General turns their hands over, examining them as if they can see the Force running across their skin. There is still a bright light surrounding them – the good of the Force fills every inch of them and that knowledge settles him a little. They haven't lost their kindness and heart, at least.

“A little. I have been disconnected from the Force for a long time, Bao-Dur,” they reply. “It feels good to draw on it again, to feel it in me. Perhaps I am relying on it a bit much, though. I should not need to fill someone with lightning to get where I need to go.”

“If you want to upgrade your weapons, I can help with that.” He doesn't understand much of the Force or any alternatives for him, but that is something he can do to help. He likes to help.

General Surik's smile is bright, and Bao-Dur's heart tumbles in his chest in silent delight. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

“Though, if I may also ask…where is your lightsaber?”

Their expression falls. “It was taken from me by the Jedi Council. When I was exiled.”

He mentally kicks himself for causing that reaction. Right. Atton had explained it to him while the General was out looting, and he had seen the recording of the General’s trial along with everyone else. “That belonged to the person back then. Why do you not have one now?”

They consider their answer, obviously working hard to . “Because I didn’t feel worthy of it.”

_Oh, General._

“We can make you a new one. I assume you remember how?”

They nod.

“I can make sure you have all the parts that you need, make sure they’re in good condition?”

And back comes the smile. “Thank you, Bao-Dur. You are too kind of me.”

He is so glad his skin does not show embarrassment easily like humans do, or he would be crimson. “it is my pleasure, General.”

Force Lightning, no lightsaber, new scars and personality shifts…this person may not be the General he remembers, but perhaps that is for the best. He rather likes them.

That part…might not be for the best.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 'Dancing Queen' achievement. Or, in Surik's case, Dancing Majesty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note: Surik, in this fic, is non-binary AFAB. And as no one on board could do the dancing, apart from Visas and there is no way that Surik would do that to her…well, that left only one person to dance for Vogga. And Surik hated every moment of it.
> 
> Hinted sexual tones at the end of this chapter.

“I’ll do it.”

Atton gapes at Surik for a moment, eyes wide. He is _certain_ that they can find a Twi’lek somewhere on Nar Shaddaa to dance for the Hutt. He knows that for certain. But no, apparently Surik doesn’t want to subject anyone to this mess and is masochistic enough to offer themselves up for bait. Atton can see the discomfort in the stillness of their expression, in how they stand, fists clenched and bracing themselves. He chances a quick look to Bao-Dur, who also looks surprised and concerned. Well, as much as the man ever does.

“Excellent. I’ll need you to try on the outfit before and dance a little before, just to make sure.”

Atton is not a good man. He knows this. He knows that he thinks with his libido as much as his instinct and common sense, and he knows that he will steal any chance he can to ogle beautiful people. Surik is absolutely one of those people. They are sturdy and strong, curves hidden under robes that purposefully mask them, all soft skin around scars. He will _always_ take chances to ogle Surik, and he knows that seeing them in dancing clothes will absolutely be a way to do it.

But this…this doesn’t feel right. Surik holds the costume in their hands like a rotting carcass and turns on their stealth field generator to change. The whole time, Atton and Bao-Dur glare at the Twi’lek Domo, who does not flinch in the slightest. Even though Surik offered, it feels like the man’s fault. This is how you get in to see a Hutt (and maybe steal from a Hutt - Atton is pretty sure that's what is getting Surik through this whole thing).

After some painful moments of tense silence, the stealth field turns off and Surik reappears in the cantina. Atton can’t help how his jaw drops a bit at the sight, even as he can see how uncomfortable Surik is. The brass, gold, and cinnamon colours of the costume are a perfect match against Surik’s skin – and there is a LOT of skin on show. Surik’s **underwear** covered more than this costume does, and even as Atton’s mouth waters, his stomach rolls in displeasure. Especially with Surik’s arms fluttering in place like they want to wrap around their bare stomach. Or breasts. Or any part that is on display. _There is so much on display and I am a weak man, but this is my friend and I must be kind._

Again, he chances a quick look at Bao-Dur, and a very similar expression plays across the Zabrak’s face. Bao-Dur’s fondness for Surik is plain for anyone with eyes to see, and probably even to those without eyes. Seeing Surik exposed and uncomfortable like this must make him feel rather conflicted too. It doesn't take much effort to keep their eyes off of Surik's bare body and glaring at the domo.

“Excellent. You will be a perfect display for Vogga,” the domo is excited.

“I haven’t even danced,” Surik says bluntly, not a drop of excitement in their voice.

“Who cares? You look the part. All you need to do is sway.”

Atton tries not to gag. Bao-Dur’s hand itches towards his weapon, but slowly returns to his side in what looks like a supreme effort.

"Let us go - Vogga awaits."

Surik gives them both a quick look of reassurance, arms crossed over their stomach. Atton leans over to whisper, "The moment this is done, you can borrow my jacket."

A flash of relief spreads across Surik's face, and it is pathetic how Atton's heart leaps at that expression. He would do anything for their good opinion, no matter how intrusive their questions get. In the meantime, he and Bao-Dur hover close, blocking any view of Surik as they make their way to the Hutt's quarters.

* * *

As soon as Vogga falls asleep to Surik's not-very-sexy dancing (honestly, Atton gets the appeal of the costume, but Surik had looked like a Paaerduag in labor), they spring into action. They pour juma juice in the water urn for the kath hounds to drink and stand back to watch it take effect. Atton immediately offers his jacket, as promised, and Surik takes it with the most painfully visible relief he has ever seen.

"I take it you're burning that as soon as you get the chance," Atton teases. 

"I'm ejecting it into **space** ," Surik mutters, digging through the bag that Bao-Dur is carrying for pants. "Why do people like being naked?"

"I am going to spare you by _not_ answering that," Atton grins. 

"Thank the stars for that," Surik teases back as they pull off the costume boots and jump into the pants, both legs at once before the leather boots go on. Privately, Atton thinks that the image of Surik in nothing but the dancer's clothes and his jacket is one of the sexiest things he's seen in a long time. It somehow pales to Surik in his jacket and their pants, fully clothes and comfortable, but it's up there. 

"Alright. They should be asleep. Let's see what Hutts keep locked away," Surik rubs their hands together.

"I feel like this is a bad idea," Bao-Dur mutters, even as he leans out to check on the kath hounds. "They're asleep, and the servant doesn't care."

"I had to strip. In public. And wear that _thing_ ," Surik replies, zipping up Atton's jacket, teeth bared in a smiling snarl. "I am stealing everything that hutt keeps locked away."

...scratch what he said before. _This_ is the sexiest thing Atton has ever seen, and Bao-Dur seems to agree with him. They load the bag with all of Vogga Hutt's stash, sweet talk the man into a fuel trade deal, and make their way out to find another crime lord. 

If later, Atton lies in bed thinking of Surik in his jacket, a snarl on their lips and sweet words on their tongue, that is no one's business but his. He is not a good man, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atton Rand becomes a Jedi Sentinel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this is just ripped from the scene, but it was so powerful that I needed to preserve it somehow.

"I just wanted to be left alone!"

The resigned anger echoes through the cockpit. Surik still stands before him, hands clasped loosely in front of them, expression open as they listen to him rage. The vitriol he has spit against the Jedi, the rage at himself and them, the recognition of everything he has done...all the while, they stand there, listening.

"And then I met you on Peragus."

Surik's mouth tweaks slightly in a smile, but it falls back to neutrality. Honestly, Atton is grateful that they don't put a joke in there. That would make this so much harder. 

"And I thought, maybe, that Jedi had saved me so that I could help you. And if I can't, then I have to _try._ " The trying is important. He has to try. He has to make the effort to be more than he is.

Surik is quiet for one painful moment before replying, "I welcome your help, Atton."

The relief that courses through him feels as strong as the Force, but he doesn't lose pace. He presses on. "I didn't want to tell you any of this, but...I had to." _Because Kreia is holding it over me,_ he doesn't say, and explains, "Because if something happens, I can't let you think I was doing it for something other than the past."

"I welcome your help and your honesty," Surik amends their previous statement. Atton chuckles joylessly.

"Once, a Jedi showed me the Force - I heard it, felt it. At the time, there was too much pain to confront it - because if I did, it meant I would be changed into something else. Now, I'm not afraid any more. And I think by learning how to use it, I can help protect you - or at least buy you some time when disaster comes screaming in."

_Big words, Atton. You can do this._

“I…want to learn how to use the Force. To protect you.”

That is the closest Atton will let himself come to saying _I want to bury this idea of me being Force Sensitive deep inside and never let it see the light, but I want to keep you safe and whole more than my own comfort, let me help you, let me keep you safe, let me care for you in the only way I know how._ Surik isn’t reading his mind – Atton has enough mental barriers up to prevent any passive Jedi mind reading – but they seem to read something on his face, because their answer is an immediate “Of course I will train you. Thank you for your faith and that honour.”

He sags with relief, resting his hands on the chair back, and his swords clang together. It finally occurs to him that part of Surik’s gentleness in this whole confrontation is because he’s been standing with the chair between him and them, unconsciously using it for protection. And his vibroblades had come out in reflex when they had started interrogating him. Whoops. He sheathes them, a blush filling his cheeks, and leans back on the chair. Surik doesn’t comment on it, thank the stars.

“My…my pleasure.” Not quite true, but he’ll get there. Eventually. “What must I do? Is there a ritual or…”

Surik tips their hand back and forth. “Sort of – more of a process. Are you comfortable here in the cockpit? You feel steady, a part of the ship?”

He nods.

“Then we’ll stay here. Take a seat or stay standing. Whatever helps you feel centered.”

Atton finally lets go of the chair and stands up straight, arms at his sides. His feet move to parade rest.

“Close your eyes and open your mind.”

His eyes fall closed and he takes a slow steady breath. It feels wrong to lower the barriers he had put on his mind, to leave himself open, but he does so carefully. In that moment of quiet…he feels it. He feels the Force. It’s less daunting and overwhelming than it felt before. It feels…welcoming.

“You must learn to feel it around you, feel its currents, its eddies.” Surik’s voice is gentle, and almost as if by command, Atton feels it. It feels like he’s lying on his back in water, floating. He can feel the motion of the universe around him.

“Listen to the echo of your thoughts, your heart –“ Surik says softly. “Separated from war, separated from hate.”

That is harder, but Atton tries. The currents touch his thoughts, he thinks, and while the war and hate will never truly fade, he can hear the parts of him that had been buried under all of that for so long. He didn’t know those parts of himself still existed.

“Think of what you felt when you felt the need to help me, to protect me,” Surik continues.

That feeling is familiar. He feels it more often than he would like – and not just because Kreia threatened him with it. This feeling is strong and he lets it guide him in the currents. The currents mold around the feelings, and he feels like he could draw on them.

“And at last, Atton…awaken.”

His eyes snap open and he takes a deep breath. It feels deeper than before, like a weight had been silently pressing on his chest and now it’s gone. Now, all he can see is Surik smiling at him.

“How do you feel?”

“…like I can do something.”

“Let’s go to the hold. I’ll show you how to use the Force to heal – we need that more than anything – and then we’ll work on connection,” Surik grins. “I won’t even call you Padawan.”

“Thank the stars for that.” Atton grins. “So…what path am I walking?”

Surik considers. “You want to protect, but you like being a jack of all trades. Not just combat, not just skills.” They smile. “Sentinel. The balance between Guardian and Consular. The jack of all trades of the Jedi.”

“Master of none?”

“We’ll see how fast you learn.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dxun is testing Bao-Dur's self-restraint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am frankly amazed that Bao-Dur doesn't make any more comments about being in a camp full of Mandalorians. I imagine he spends the whole time biting his tongue.

Bao-Dur wonders, for a brief moment, if the General hates him.

It’s pretty clear that they don’t. They wouldn’t take him on so many missions if they did – and the amount of time they spend talking also contributes to the negative. If anything, he’d say that the General is fond of him ( _and he most certainly is of them, though that is both beside the point and a thought he can’t let himself carry too far.)_

But why the General thought _he_ was the best one to take with them to a camp full of **Mandalorians** is a mystery. He will admit that General Surik didn’t exactly bring him there by choice – all three of them were forced to walk into the Mandalorian camp. And deal with Mandalore himself, which, gods, it was all Bao-Dur could do not to shoot the man in the face. Only a mountain of self-restraint and the General’s hand on his arm ( _strong hands with lightsaber calluses, soft but still commanding, he can still feel the touch under his gloves STOP IT)_ kept him from it. He had a feeling that Mandalore was smirking under his helmet the whole time.

Now, though…Surik is helping the Mandalorians. He gets why – they need a shuttle down to Onderon and Mandalore has the only functioning one in the area, so they have to impress Mandalore – but it doesn’t mean he has to like it. The General knows that he hates Mandalorians and that his hate runs deep, even after the war. In fact, the General even pulled him to the side the moment they were out of the camp and out of earshot of the Mandalorians to ask if he was okay.

“What do you mean, General?” He asks.

“You were not very subtle in there, Bao-Dur,” Surik says softly. “You wanted to punch every Mandalorian there in the face. I could see it, Mandalore could see it, and everyone around us probably could.”

He feels ashamed at that, not quite able to meet the General’s eye. “I’m sorry, General. I should be able to push past this.”

They gently tip his head to look back at them. “It’s alright. I’m having a very hard time keeping a pazaak face in there, even with Jedi training. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

 _Enough rage and sorrow and desperate need for revenge to swallow a sun, that’s what I’m going through._ He doesn’t say that, but he feels like the General hears him anyway. Their face softens, and the empathy in that face is enough to make his chest ache.

“Do you need to go back to the Ebon Hawk?” They ask. “I don’t want you to be going through mental hell just to stay by my side. We’re going to be here for a while and I know you didn’t sign on with me to work with Mandalorians.”

 _Why did I ever think that the General hated me?_ Even as that ball of rage coils in his chest, fierce like a caged animal, some of the tension in his softens.

He murmurs, “That might be for the best, General. It’s all I can do not to rig their relay dish to explode when no one is looking.”

They snicker. “If this goes tits-up, I give you free rein to mess with them. That I promise. And if I do enough to get into their fighting ring, I’ll see exactly how many I can punch in the face.”

Even as he tries to stay monotone, there is obvious fondness in his voice that Bao-Dur can’t cover up. “I knew there was a reason I liked you, General.”

They smile at him. “Alright, let’s head back. I’ll pull HK-47 out in the meantime. Give him a chance to warm up his blasters.”

The guide Mandalore has set out for them takes them back to the Ebon Hawk in record time. Bao-Dur glares daggers at the man’s back the entire time. Surik doesn’t say anything to stop him, and Mira watches them with an amused expression. As Bao-Dur climbs up the loading ramp, the General leans in through the open door and calls, “HK-47! Grab some of those Mandalorian heavy blasters and come prove you’re an assassin droid!”

Bao-Dur tries not to snicker, even though it feels like failure to be walking back onto the ship. Surik does give him a smile and waves. "Wish us luck!"

He waves back, shoving the failure down in the face of Surik's smile, and he heads to the cockpit to see what he can do for repairs. Atton raises an eyebrow at him in surprise as Bao-Dur kneels by him and drags the tool box over.

“What are you doing back?” Atton asks. "I thought you'd be hot on the General's heels."

“Mandalorians. There's a base full of them here,” Bao-Dur replies. “General thought it might be better for relations if I’m not glaring at them.”

Atton snickers. “Fair enough. But Mandalorians?” His expression is still shocked. "This moon is full of Mandalorians?"

“And the new Mandalore himself. General has to negotiate with him to sneak onto Onderon.” Bao-Dur kneels to start working on some wiring to repair their comms system. “Never thought I’d see the General trying to make nice with Mandalore.”

Atton sighs. “Well, this is going to be fun. And certainly not boring. Nothing with Surik is boring.”

_No. No, it certainly isn't._


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why do these things keep happening to him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took Bao-Dur and Kreia with me to Onderon. And after the last chapter, I wondered how a man whose world was ravaged by the Mandalorians would feel about getting into one of the Basilisk.

"No."

Bao-Dur would follow the General anywhere. He knows this in his blood, deep in his soul, with every fibre of his being. He would follow Surik into the darkest places of the universe, into chaos and peace, into mess after mess. But this is pushing even _his_ boundaries.

Surik is standing beside him, staring with wide eyes at the dubiously repaired and salvaged Basilisk war droid. They are all too familiar with these things. These machines set worlds on fire, landed with such force that sand turned to glass under their feet, destroyed more cities and lives than fathomable until Malachor V. The two of them fought against these machines with everything they had and destroyed more than a few. One of Bao-Dur's most powerful memories of the General was watching them leap off of a hill, silver lightsaber glowing brightly, and watching their lightsaber carve a path through a Basilisk with more force than he thought a human body had within it. (It was incredibly hot, he has to say.)

And now Mandalore wants them to _climb in one_.

"I don't think I can do this," Bao-Dur tells them, voice wobbling just a tad. This thing is the product of nightmares. He has been terrified of them all his life and now he has to get in one.

"I don't think we have much choice," Surik mutters back. They sound resigned and that doesn't bode well for Bao-Dur's nerves.

"There's plenty of room for three, if a little bit tight," Mandalore says firmly, standing at attention nearby. Bao-Dur has taken great care _not_ to punch the man. Or threaten him. Or say a word. "Some of the support systems are down, but it should get you in just fine."

"What systems?" Surik frowns.

"Nothing too serious. You'll be fine," Mandalore waves it off.

"You know that is wildly disconcerting, right?" Surik is sharp with the criticism, eyes narrowing to stare at the man.

Mandalore barks a laugh. "And here I thought you were a fearsome Jedi. Come on, don't be such a worrywart."

 _That's not who Surik is worried_ for.

Fingers gently wrap around his hand. Bao-Dur startles at the touch, not recognizing the gloved hands, but when he looks out of the corner of his eye, there is Surik. They've tucked their lightsaber away, and they give his hand a gentle squeeze. On any other day, he would give his eyeteeth to feel Surik hold him, but for now, he desperately drinks in the palpable comfort. Surik doesn't say anything to out him in his fear and anger, but it's all there in the subtle touch. _We'll be alright. I'm here and we will be okay. I will not let this hurt you and we will not cause anyone any more nightmares. This isn't the War anymore._

He swallows and nods slightly, just a slight jerk down with his chin. Maybe Mandalore notices. Maybe Kreia does too. But again, Surik doesn't say anything. They simply nod and tell Mandalore, "We're ready. Alright, everyone get in and get ready to get to know each other real well."

When Mandalore had said the Basilisk was modified for three, what he had really meant was that it could fit two fully armoured Mandalorians, if a bit squished. Kreia claims a full seat in the back, on account of "I don't believe I can contribute to the flight of this vessel, and I believe you will need all the help you can get," which leaves...him and Surik. In one seat. Squashed together.

_If I die, at least I'll be happy?_

The seat isn't quite big enough for two people to sit side by side, so Surik climbs onto Bao-Dur's lap. The system is worked out quickly and efficiently: Bao-Dur will make sure the Basilisk doesn't fall apart upon landing, and Surik will guide them in. The seatbelts are strapped on - it's barely enough to wrap around Surik and Bao-Dur, thank the spirits that Surik isn't big - and the door shut.

"Alright," Surik swallows. "Let's get this party started."

It's been modified with engines, so they start the launching sequence. Bao-Dur does what he can, making sure everything is set, and when his hands can do nothing else, he isn't sure what to do with them. His remote beeps with the man's perceived discomfort.

Surik's thoughts turn to the comforting and they whisper, "Hold on, Bao-Dur. This is going to be a bumpy ride."

Finally, he settles on wrapping his arms around Surik's middle, locking them in place. It gives him a bit of comfort as the engines kick into gear and they set off from the Dxun base. It's a jarring ride and his teeth rattle in his skull. He can't imagine how Kreia feels, not that he wants to turn his head around and ask. No, he just watches over Surik's shoulder, gripping a little tighter, as the General guides the droid out of the atmosphere and towards Onderon.

"Everyone okay?" Surik asks. The ship starts to level out, so Bao-Dur lets go to check on all of the systems.

"I am well, if a little bruised," Kreia replies.

"Bao-Dur?" Surik lets go of a control for just a moment, keeping the ship on course with one hand, and pats his knee. "I'm not squishing you, am I?"

Bao-Dur is, in fact, trying very hard not to think about what it feels like to have Surik on top of him. "No, General, you're not," he settles on, hoping his voice doesn't give him away. "Just focusing on keeping this thing together."

He can hear the smile in their voice. "Good plan. Priorities."

The cruise to the planet doesn't take long. They swerve around the ships above the planet, and soon they are breaching atmo. He swallows and tries to keep his hands on the controls rather than gripping Surik like a terrified child.

"We will land unharmed, but still," Kreia intones, "fly carefully, Exile."

_Please don't kill us._

"Hold on tight. People are going to be shooting at us."

Bao-Dur knows that voice. That isn't Surik anymore. This is the General, the General who made tactical decisions and led forces in the Mandalorian War. This is all of the focus in the world, turned into keeping them alive and on target. The memory of it flips a switch in him and the fear starts to fade. He almost doesn't remember that this is a Mandalorian craft out of his nightmares. He's entering battle with his General. Confidence slides in as he adjusts the controls.

It's almost like the droid responds to the confidence. The controls work smoother, even as the outside metal heats up from entry. More than a few beads of sweat drip down Surik's temples, but they never let go to wipe them off. No, they are focused on the turrets, dodging every blast and aiming for the centre of Iziz Spaceport. They land with a crash, cracking the stone under them, and there are cries outside of how Queen Talia has enlisted the Mandalorians, ATTACK.

_Well, that's pretty far from the truth. I can't wait to get out of this._

Bao-Dur unclips the seatbelt as soon as he can, flipping the door open with his other hand. Surik is out with their lightsabers the moment the door opens, jumping off the droid and striking down the first person to shoot at them. Kreia and Bao-Dur are soon to join them, vibroblades at the ready to cut down the enemies approaching them. It doesn't take long - no one is quite prepared for a Jedi. When the bodies lie around them, the three of them take a brief moment to breathe.

"I think that's the hardest I've ever had to work to keep something flying," Surik mutters. "Never again."

Now that is something he can agree with. " _Never."_


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Visas has, to her, a very confusing conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Visas.

"Sorry to interrupt - do you have a moment?"

Visas tilts her head slightly, pausing in her meditation. Ah. The Exile. From what she can tell, the Exile is standing at a respectable distance. Not so close as to invite attack, but not so far as to invite disinterest. Close enough to care, as if Visas is a wild animal. Not that they are in any danger from her – the Exile fought her valiantly and could have killed her with ease - but she respects the concern. They left her alive out of some mercy and are awaiting to see what will come of her. There is a debt to be repaid, and Visas understands that perhaps this person is stronger than her own master, so she will serve gladly.

Visas unclasps her hands and rises to her feet, robes falling loosely around her. Her borrowed vibroblade stays on the ground. She doesn’t need to look in the Exile’s direction, per se, but she does tilt her body in that direction. From what she gathers, those who rely on physical sight find it more comforting when she does it.

“My life for yours,” she intones, ready for the Exile’s judgement.

“My name is Surik. What is your name?”

That makes Visas pause, but she answers honestly. “Visas Marr.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Visas Marr,” Surik has a pleasant voice to listen to. It's light and warm, with the edge of a smile to it, with a faint lilting accent. Visas can’t quite tell their expression, but there is a gentle concern emanating from them. “Are you alright?” They ask gently. 

It feels like a test, so Visas responds in the fashion that her master would have…not necessarily approved of, but at least wouldn’t have punished. “I am able to serve. If we enter battle, I will fight and die alongside you.”

Stronger concern, and when Surik speaks, there is a slight frown. “That’s not what I asked. I asked if you were all right.”

Not a test, then. Concern. Genuine concern for her well-being. Visas pauses, and is certain that her expression betrays some of her own uncertainty. “I…I have not heard that question in some time. My flesh is…healed, if that’s the answer you seek.”

For a moment, a sharp burst of emotion flies through Surik, on the surface of their mind, and Visas registers it with ease. It is care, of a paternal sort that reminds Visas of arms wrapping around her, of hands nursing wounds. It's not a whole memory, more something on the edge of what she has forgotten, and it hurts. She shoves the memory aside, focusing on her training and the moment to draw her back.

“In medbay,” Surik continues, “I…we…”

Ah, yes. The padawan, with a touch of Sith Hunter about him. He was there beside her, tending her wounds, telling the Exile what he knew about her people.

They don't stop, “We noticed you have scars. Who hurt you?”

It isn’t an accusation. It isn’t pity or anything patronizing. It’s a request, more gentle concern, a verbal equivalent of fingers loosely holding her chin and petting her hair. There's a faint promise in it too - not vengeance, the Exile radiates too much light for it to properly be vengeance, but a promise that whoever hurt her wouldn't hurt her again if they had anything to say about it.

“The scars are many, and the causes equally so,” Visas is familiar with the action of pushing her own pain deep down and hiding it, but the need to do so to soothe someone else…is strange. “It is of no importance.”

Visas has a feeling that if she was touching Surik’s face, she would feel a frown. It is true – there are so many scars that Visas wouldn’t know where to begin describing where they came from. One from childhood, some from the destruction of her colony, some from her Master, some from training, some more from punishment…they are endless. They are a part of her.

“I do as well,” Surik replies softly. “A sign of survival as well as struggle.”

“Yes. That is true, I suppose.”

“How did you find me?”

The gentle interrogation continues. It's the strangest interrogation she's ever had, with no pain or cruelty in it, but the answers are pulled from her with ease. “I…felt you, heard you, through the Force. It was like a sound, at the edge of hearing. And when I heard it, I found I could not ignore it.”

Surik makes an affirming sound. “Did you come to find me just because you heard?”

The unsaid question: _who sent you?_

Visas’s words are steady. “I serve my Master. I am an emissary, a scout. My master was aware of a disturbance in the Force, but was unaware of its nature, of you. The disturbance is not something one feels from a living thing.”

No, not a living thing. A wound. Like her master.

“There is little my Master does not know, and that you eluded his sight for so long…is significant, but I do not know why.”

“Where can I find him?” Another gentle promise. Visas feels a protective need stir in her.

“You cannot. His vessel roams the borders of known space, and even I do not know where he travels, until he…calls for me.” Call. Not the best word, but the simplest for now. “Even if I could lead you to my Master, I cannot permit you to find him…until you are ready.”

“Ready?” Caution. But then a scoff. “But it doesn’t matter. My life is unimportant - Your master threatens more than just me. If he is behind what has befallen the Jedi, then he must be stopped!” Surik pleads with her.

“You will meet my Master,” Visas replies. “It is inevitable. I have…seen it. And when you stand before him and realize what you face, you must be prepared. Until then, I must protect you, help you, until you are ready.”

A bitter laugh. “Why are you doing this for me, Visas?”

Visas blinks. "I do not understand."

Surik doesn't pace, but the motion vibrates within their frame. "You barely know me, and here you are, ready to throw your life between your Master and I. Why are you doing this?"

“I cannot bring you to him unprepared, and I will not. I would die first, and gladly, to preserve you, untouched, unharmed. Now that I have found you, I cannot sacrifice what I have found.”

“You make me sound special.”

“You are.”

“I don’t understand.”

This is…harder to explain.

“There is a…a greatness in you, a greatness that does not stem from the Force. It stems from who you are. And if my Master does not understand you, cannot see you…then perhaps there is hope for us all. But if you seek to survive, then you must understand why this is so.”

There is silence. Perhaps it is a facial expression that she can't see. "Sorry, I'm raising my eyebrow," Surik fills in.

Visas makes an affirming sound.

"You are from Katarr, aren't you?" Surik asks.

The sudden hurt from that question stops her words right in her throat. For all of the pain that Visas has suffered, that hurts worst of all. And the memory of the pain, of seeing it, still lingers.

"May I touch your shoulder?" Surik asks, voice so soft that Visas can barely hear it.

The instinct to obey is strong, and Visas nods even though her heart is not entirely in it. She braces herself for the touch, for a strike, for the Force gathering around a hand to choke or deal damage. But instead...the touch is soft. Surik's bare hand rests on her robes, cupping her shoulder, and her thumb traces a meaningless pattern softly over Visas's collarbone. It's tender, comforting, and it is, perhaps, the first gentle touch that Visas has felt since she lost her home. She's not used to it. Not at all. 

"Sorry is not strong enough of a word," Surik says softly. "It truly is not. But I have to say it. I am so, so deeply sorry for all that you have lost, and if you are seeking peace for it, I hope I can help."

There's not much Visas can say to that. "Thank you," she says softly.

The hand slowly pulls away from her. The absence almost hurts. "I'll leave you be. Thank you for answering me. When we go planetside next, will you come with me?"

"Of course," Visas replies, the instinct to obey carrying her through her emotional turmoil.

"Thank you."

Surik eventually departs, and Visas sinks back to the floor to meditate. Her hands shake on her knees, and she bends her head. She can't cry - she has no tears to - but she lets herself, for just a moment, to let her emotions carry her. She rides her grief and sorrow and pain, and shakes apart on the floor.

Perhaps Surik will help piece her back together after. If she's lucky.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surik and the Handmaiden meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of me likes the idea of companions based on the Exile's gender, but another part of me thinks we missed out on some great interactions without it. And since Surik is non-binary in this fic...why not both.

There is someone on their ship.

Surik can feel it, now that they listen. On the edge of hearing, there is someone else, someone just on the edge of the Force, hiding in the cargo hold. They’d stopped at Telos to deliver news of the new supply of fuel – not that Grenn was extremely happy about now being in business with a Hutt, but what can you do, and Surik had anonymously donated most of their credits as an initial payment and apology) – and in the meantime, everyone had taken a little time to get off the ship. Mira scoped out the cantina to get information, and Mandalore prowled around to see if there were any clans that he could take from bodyguards. Bao-Dur went to go get some repair supplies, Atton and HK-47 to get new ammunition and weapon upgrades, G0-TO to ensure business went smoothly, Kreia and Visas to meditate in quiet spots.

Surik steps on board and listens. T3 beeps and chirps his way up to them, whirring away. * ** _Someone’s here, someone’s here!_** _*_

“Where?” Surik asks softly.

* **In the hold. She snuck on after you all got off, shuttle pulled up.** * T3 leads them through the hallways. * **Thought she could sneak by me, but nothing sneaks by me.** *

“No, it doesn’t. Nice job, T3,” Surik pats the droid’s cortical processor gently, and there is a gentle woo of appreciation. “I’ll have a chat with her. Do we know her?”

* **One of the Echani who worked on me.** *

Surik freezes. _One of Atris’s girls?_ They take a step with a bit more caution. “Hang back, T3. If you hear fighting, call Bao-Dur.”

* **Roger that!** *

Surik doesn’t grab a hold of their lightsaber, but they most certainly have it ready in case anyone runs up. They walk slowly through the hallways, quietly bemoaning the loss of their stealth generator (not that it quieted their steps at all – and Atton was much better with that in the first place), and make their way to the hold.

There is a woman sitting there in all white, her silvery hair cropped short. It’s the one she spoke to first, the one whose face honoured her mother, the one who told her that Atton used Echani fighting styles. Surik leans just a bit away from her lightsaber and leans against the doorway. They are briefly tempted to throw a pebble at her to introduce themselves, but….no. Not today.

“Can I help you?” They ask.

The Handmaiden turns to look at her. “Atris asked me to join you.”

Well, that's downright generous of Atris, but Surik knows better than to outright accept a gift. “Let me guess, she’s concerned that I got to Telos the first time without her knowing,” Surik smiles. “She never liked it when an answer was just out of her reach. And she wants you to let her know if I start going Dark Side 'again', as if I ever went Dark Side in the first place.”

The Handmaiden doesn’t answer, but her eyes widen in surprise and Surik marks that as a victory.

“I am not begrudging her motives. It’s what I would do,” they continue, “and really, I should be way more distrusting, but we could use all the help we can get.”

She nods. “Yes. That is why I was sent.”

“I assume you can handle yourself in a fight?” The Handmaiden nods. Surik raises an eyebrow and walks to the wall where most of the weapons are kept. They pull out two staffs and throw one over the Handmaiden, who neatly catches it out of midair. “Show me.”

The Handmaiden, to her credit, doesn’t flinch once. She spins the quarterstaff, getting a feel for the balance of it, and then immediately strides forward. Surik swings up with their own, and they begin an easy sparring match in the hold. Now that they are watching for it, Surik can see where Atton gets his stance from. The Handmaiden has the technique, but even more so. She moves with speed and grace, and Surik has to work hard to keep on their toes. She nearly knocks Surik off her feet, but Jedi reflexes keep her upright. Surik nearly gets her own back, but the Handmaiden dodges.

Until Surik pulls out a Mandalorian move and manages to knock the Handmaiden on her ass. Surik smiles, an eyebrow raised, and tosses their quarterstaff to one hand, offering the Handmaiden the other. “Nicely done.”

They are both panting and sweaty, even though the Handmaiden looks way too composed for it. Still, the Handmaiden takes their hand and stands up. “Do I meet your approval?”

“You do,” Surik smiles a little more. “I can already hear the crew shouting about how we have too many people already, and that you could be a spy.”

“But since you know…”

“But since I know, it should be okay. Besides, I know you have a bit more curiosity than your sisters. It should work.”

The Handmaiden frowns. “What do you mean?”

Surik feels a bit like Kreia, powerful in the possession of knowledge and wanting to be cryptic as a result. But they aren’t that much of a bitch, so they just smile and say, “None of your sisters asked me about the Force. And I have a feeling about you. My gut feelings tend to be right.”

The Handmaiden swallows, but doesn’t answer.

“Now…what do I call you?” Surik asks.

“Brianna.”

“I am Surik. Welcome to the Ebon Hawk, Brianna.”

Sure enough, Atton loses his mind at them later, and Kreia grumbles even more about how much the ship is filling up. Even so, Brianna looks privately excited to be there and learn more from them, along with saving the galaxy, so Surik doesn’t mind.

But they are definitely running out of space on the ship.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This was my home, all this pain and devastation, how it tortures me inside. All the innocents who suffered for our stubbornness and pride._
> 
> Dantooine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That slow-mo sweep of the destroyed Enclave inspired this chapter. Because it hurt.

Dantooine is a mess.

Atton knew it would be the moment they set foot on the planet. Not just because of the whispered words that Jedi used to be here and now they’re gone, that everyone hates the Jedi for what was done here (not that Atton can blame them in the slightest, gods know that he hates the Jedi as much as any of these people)...but the air feels wrong. It's something in the Force - like the faint sound of an echo after a scream, like something terrible happened here. Surik shifts when they step off, gripping their Force Pike (there was a unanimous decision that no lightsabers would be involved here unless desperately necessary), and they swallow tightly. Visas feels it too, judging by the set of her shoulders, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Salvager?” The greeter asks.

“No, I’m not a salvager,” Surik’s voice is gentle, but the words are firm.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Visiting. I used to live here.”

“You used to live here?” Atton blinks. He knew that Dantooine was one of the Jedi worlds, but to come to where Surik learned how to be what they are feels almost like an invasion of privacy.

Surik nods. “I spent a long time here before…well…”

That’s answer enough. Atton doesn’t press, not in front of the guide.

But it’s when the three of them see the Jedi Enclave that it all sinks in. Surik freezes, eyes wide, and if they were any different, Atton imagines that they would fall to their knees. Still, they freeze and there is a hiccuped little noise, like a sob fought back at the last minute. Their fingers knot at their side.

“There were _children_ here,” Surik murmurs, stepping up to the walls. “Did they evacuate?”

Atton doesn’t know. Neither does Visas.

“This was my home.” Their voice is soft. “I spent most of my life here. Even if they exiled me, this was home.”

_And it’s gone._

Visas is the one to breach the gap. Her hand rests on Surik’s shoulder, and after a moment of thought, Atton does the same to the other shoulder. There’s not a whole lot that either of them can say. Surik wilts a little under the touch, accepting the comfort, and they stand there for a moment, just looking. If he imagines, tunes into the Force, Atton can hear the ghosts of children running around. He can hear the swing of lightsabers, the falling of feet, the vibrancy of life that comes with a place full of the Force. He might even be able to hear the screams of those people running, trying to flee and not having anywhere to go.

He’s pretty sure that’s what Surik hears.

They swallow and straighten up. “Thank you,” they say softly.

“It is our pleasure,” Visas replies. Atton would normally let out a quip of some kind about how Visas doesn’t speak for him, but he has the exact same sentiment.

“Ready?” He asks.

They nod. “Yes. Let’s go find Vrook, the son of a bitch.”

Visas looks surprised. “You don’t like him?”

“You’ll understand when you meet him.” Either way, Surik flicks on their lightsaber and the three of them begin their walk into what remains of the Jedi enclave.

* * *

The scream is something new.

Atton knows the tools of the Dark Jedi. He’s watched plenty of them fight, studied their movements and tools and powers, learned how to navigate around them. He knows that Surik is a good person, always does their best to be a good person, but that a good fighter uses what tools they can to get the job done. Lightning flies often from Surik’s fingers, and it certainly gets its workout against the laigreks.

Then they get surrounded. Visas is on her knees, trying to keep the creatures back with all of her might, and Atton is doing much the same. Surik’s one lightsaber isn’t getting the job done either, and Atton can see that their strength is waning, they’re bleeding, and they’re running out of Force to use. Things are going badly.

“Run!” Atton urges them.

Surik shakes their head. “I’m not leaving you!”

“For fuck’s sake, just go! I can keep it together if you make it!”

Surik shakes their head and gathers their energy. He can see it – the last dregs of the Force that they can pull, practically clawing for it in their desperation. He expects lightning, he expects healing, he expects something to shove one of the laigreks away to give them enough time to run.

He isn’t prepared for the scream. The sound practically rips itself out of Surik’s lungs, a scream that echoes through the tight halls of the sublevel. It’s like Surik reached down into their soul, found the pain of the Mandalorian wars, and dragged it out to throw at their enemies. It _hurts,_ and Atton covers his ears in the face of it. Visas doesn’t flinch, he can see that much out of the corner of his eye, but he does get the sense that she stills in surprise. The laigreks reel under the force of it, blood starting to drip from their ears, and the sonic damage is enough to finally put most of them to rest. One last lucky lightsaber slice seals the deal, and Surik sinks to their knees.

_(In the distance, in a locked library, the Disciple pauses in his work at the sound. He knows that voice, knows the power behind it, and it nearly makes him drop the holocron he is reading. He reaches for his blaster, readies himself by the door for the familiar face that will burst through it. He isn’t sure if he’s excited or terrified.)_

“Holy _shit!”_ Atton breathes out in horror, staring at the Jedi. “What was that?”

“I have seen such tactics from my master. I didn’t think you had it in you,” Visas says softly, turned towards Surik and her mouth slightly open in awe.

Surik is panting, a hand pressed over their bleeding wounds. More of the Force comes to them, and they manage to spread it out to heal all of them. Wounds slowly knit shut, and Atton finds the strength to get to his feet. He offers Surik an arm, which they gladly take, and hauls them to their feet as well. “I didn’t either,” Surik mutters.

“Who taught you that?” Atton asks.

Surik flashes him a look. Visas fills in, “I think the wars taught people many things they might wish to forget. That they might not use unless emergency calls for it.”

Right. Surik looks a bit sheepish, almost ashamed of what they did. They roll their shoulders and send the Force out to heal them again until all three of them can stand up straight. “I’ll save that for special occasions.”

“Hell of a present,” Atton cracks, and Surik barks out a laugh, lightness filling their face again. It makes his chest warm at the sight.

* * *

Four of them walk out of the Enclave, purpose in every stride. Atton keeps looking surreptitiously at their new addition – a Republic historian, a disciple of the Jedi who learned their history – because something about the man makes him uneasy. Maybe it’s his naivete. Maybe it’s how he, in his few interactions, already thinks the world of Surik (because the man clearly knows Surik from somewhere and will not say, and Atton has a few ideas). Not that Atton _doesn’t_ think the world of Surik, because he does, but the Disciple already worships the ground Surik walks on. He’s suspicious and hero worshipping and naïve and overly noble and dammit, how can Atton be jealous of a man he’s just met?

Atton feels his trigger finger getting itchy thinking about it.

Before they step outside, Surik tucks their lightsaber away and pulls out their Force Pike. Visas does the same for vibroblades, and Atton gladly swirls his blasters.

“I don’t understand,” the Disciple asks.

“People don’t like Jedi here,” Surik says softly. “Even if I’m an Exile, that won’t matter. I have to hide.”

“I see.”

Atton rolls his eyes so hard that he thinks they’ll roll out of his head. But as soon as Surik gives the signal, he pushes the doors open and steps out into the sunlight. It feels good and he lets out a sigh of relief. “Smell that air!”

Visas takes in a slow breath. “It does feel good to be surrounded by life,” she replies.

“How long were you down there?” Surik asks the Disciple. “There’s not exactly a lot in those ruins.”

“It’s…been some time,” the man hedges. “I may have been trading with the salvagers.”

Surik shrugs. “No judgement here.”

As they walk out and pass the edge of the crumbling stone barrier, Surik stops for a moment to turn around. The Disciple jogs past before realizing that Surik isn’t coming and turns around. “What are we-“

“Shh.” Atton snaps.

Visas stands back, arms at her sides, and fills in gently. “Wait.”

Surik stands there for a moment, fingers touching the stone, and their eyes close. Maybe they’re tapping into the Force, maybe just into memory – Atton doesn’t know. All he knows is that Surik’s lips are moving with silent words and he thinks he can make out a few of them.

_I’m sorry._

_You should have come with me._

_I hope the younglings made it._

_I miss-_

_I love-_

Then the silence gain volume in a gentle whisper. “May you all be one with the Force.”

Finally, they turn and walk away from the Enclave. Another ruin behind them as they walk to the future.


End file.
